


Helping Hands

by DianaMoon



Category: Glee
Genre: 1910s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, American History, Canon Jewish Character, Family, Gay Male Character, Gen, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Pre-Slash, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaMoon/pseuds/DianaMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt walks the same route from school to his local Suffragist Office, always passing by an enigmatic boy who more than captures his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Round Two of the Puckurt Drabble Off. My prompt was the era '1890s-1920s'. I did do quite a bit of research for this, but since it was only for a short story (500 words is not enough lol), it may not show. I do use Hebrew in this and I apologize in advance if I've butchered it or wrote it wrong, but I did try from a few different sources. The meanings of what was said are in the end notes. Many thanks to Sarah & Nikki for beta'ing this and wrangling it down to 500 for the version I submitted to the drabble off! <3
> 
> Also this is the slightly longer version than the one submitted. I had an even longer one but that wasn't edited. I am thinking of maybe turning this into a longer story.

Every afternoon, I take the the same route from school to the local Suffragist Office. It's long and unnecessary, but I already have enough trouble at the Academy for being 'quite queer' in my attitude and dress. Father always shakes his head at my constant demerits for changing the uniform, but no one should be forced to wear scratchy grey tweed day in and day out. I digress. Not many in the school have forward thinking parents, of course they spew whatever their precious parents think, too. So that means hiding my support of equal rights for women. Father says mother would be proud.

The route isn't dangerous, but isn't a way father knows. It crosses a few bars and a job center catering mostly to immigrants. Almost every day I see a boy in line about my age, though taller and very muscular, and a younger girl holding hands, his sister I think. They don't look like the others. I always wonder why they never seem to find a job. Most days I feel his eyes on me. At first it had bothered me, and despite my small stature, I would glare at him. He would only smirk in response before looking down at his sister to listen to whatever story she was telling, using a mix of English and another language.

As the days grow colder, I bundle up more. Occasionally, I see the sister with his warmer clothes, he in threadbare shirt and pants. I try not to think about how they don't even match. More and more, I see the boy with a bottle, perhaps containing alcohol, though his sister never scolds him for it. Nonetheless, he's always smiling and staring at me. I've grown to not mind it. Today I baked some muffins for the girls, not able to stay as usual, since father was coming home for dinner this time.

I made extra to give to the boy and his sister, but when I walk down the alley where the line is, there's a small crowd surrounding the boy who's on the ground, rubbing his jaw, the shattered remains of a bottle around him as his sister tries to push some men away. I shout to leave them alone and surprisingly, they do, but not quietly.

"Damn dirty drunk immigrant! Go back to where you came from!" One man spat as he walked away, giving us all the evil eye. I won't even mention what the others say.

" _Lech tiezdayen_!" 

"Watch your mouth, big brother!"

" _Slicha_ , Sarah," the boy said, trying to get up. I help him stand, frowning to see how bloody his knuckles are. Immediately I take off my scarf, wrapping his hand, muttering about ignorant people. The boy stays quiet but Sarah talks up a storm about what went on, how her brother—Noah—drinks to stay warm, all the while thanking me even though really, I didn't do much. 

"I just need to drop this basket off, but if you would like... Cook always makes so much food, why not join me and my father for dinner? As um... a thanks for me helping you two," I suggest suddenly, biting my lip, thinking they would never accept a stranger's help.

"We'd love that!" exclaims Sarah. She takes our hands, neither of us realizing that I was still holding his till that moment, and tugs us along, asking after a few steps which direction to go. I laugh and point the way, for once smiling back at Noah.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Lech tiezdayen_ roughly means "Go Fuck Yourself" in Hebrew. _Slicha_ means "Sorry".


End file.
